BonesBleachedBare

Geeks shall inherit the earth

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Literature

hypergraphia

she writes in the empty spaces between the words between the world, world-weary fingers and toes and pengrips, knives letter-opener swords, typewriter machetes arm-wrestling with fate and the universe on a piece of paper, computer screens painting faces with colors stained-glass hyphenated hue-tint-shade glory she waits. she is patient. she's their patient, doctors and nurses emergency room, operating room, clinical study stethoscope children they wish fervently to cut her open. her insides will be beautiful, they say, beautiful and pink and full of words. unwords, she says. she writes on her skin, on napkins and paper bags i

Poetry

165 deviations

Literature

Retrograde

Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine. I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands. She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however. Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the univ

Prose

75 deviations

Retrograde by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Retrograde

A Pocket Full of Sky by iridiana, literature

Literature

A Pocket Full of Sky

When I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition. "Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads

Roanoke by mvtk42, literature

The Virgin and The Whore by LadyofGaerdon, literature

Dragons by FlyingGuineaPig, literature

Literature

Dragons

The dragons just kept getting cuter. I'd meant them to be scary, with snakelike heads and pearly fangs, but as my fingers gained more practice the dragons they shaped became younger and more innocent, their wings tiny and their eyes wide. Dull spikes lined their heads and tails, not yet sharpened by age. They lay on their bellies or sat up and watched with good-natured curiosity. They were friendly. They were sweet. They were flawed, and there were a lot of them. I experimented with color and pose, sculpting the way others would turn a stress ball. Every morning I baked the newcomers in my oven, and within a week my desk was overrun. Rows o

The Troubles of Dating by Tanton, literature

Literature

The Troubles of Dating

The Troubles of Dating (and Time-Travel) I suppose she was the first girl I fell in love with because of something other than a nice pair of breasts, and therefore, the first girl I fell in love with whom I actually succeeded in asking out on a date. More than anything it was her hair, the way it was neither curly nor straight, but wavy, and in a dark and dreamy shade of red that nearly seemed black. It reached down beyond her shoulders, and I could find myself staring at the back of her head for hours during our classes, mesmerized by it. Breasts weren't half-bad either though. And she was a nice person. At least, that was the impression I

2: the first question by ssleep, literature

Literature

2: the first question

The first thing I noticed was the fez on her lap. I saw it as I scanned the tube for empty seats; a flash of red in the corner of my eye. It perched delicately on her thighs like a small, unassuming puppy that stared at passerby with large eyes, silently daring them to challenge its right to be there. I gaped at it; the train started forward with a jerk and I had to grab onto the metal pole in front of me to keep my balance. The ungainly motion of my body lurching forward caught the eye of the fez's owner; I saw her look up at me quickly, then duck her eyes down to her hands, which were diminutive and pale and folded neatly in her lap, ju

The Siren by QuiEstInLiteris, literature

Literature

The Siren

There was a dead body on Sandie's back porch, and it was trying to get in. She wrung the coffee out of the front of her shirt, made damn sure that all of her doors and windows were locked, and called Mike. "Mike." "Yeah? Sandie? That you?" "You don't know anything about this, do you?" "About what?" "The zombie." "Come again?" "Mike, there's a zombie on my back porch. It's leaving smears on the glass door. Is it yours?" "I... Could you repeat that?" "Zombie, Mike. It's a dead body in a puddle of nasty, and it's leaving more nasty on my door. God, I can even smell it. This is one thorough job, man." She edged away from the door, keep

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